


Tell Me What You Want

by ahries



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Canon, abraham-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 21:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15348864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahries/pseuds/ahries
Summary: It's been years since the revolution, and all of them have settled in.Abraham still wants more.





	Tell Me What You Want

**Author's Note:**

> hello :-)  
> this is my first published work although I do write a lot of excerpts that I never finish 
> 
> I really like this relationship because they all mesh so well gosh they're so darn cute
> 
> I'm not very experienced so I apologize if it's reflected in my work (structure, grammar, spelling, etc.); I just wanted to post for fun since I would love for more tallwoodbrewster?? to be shipped + more love for woodhull

Abraham’s body sang as he trekked through the orange decay of the forest. His feet complained of exertion from the walk, a feat he would have been able to pull off easily had it not been the years on his physique. His knees creaked, his stomach rumbled from gnawing hunger, and his arms soared through thousands of levels of pain as he carried the weight of wood. Only the crunching of the brittle leaves served as a steadfast reminder that he was moving, getting closer to the comfort of his home. He had enough firewood to last him through this fall, and if he was careful, winter as well.

 

He dropped the mass of wood at his feet somewhere near his house and bent down to catch his breath. He could feel the sweat from his hair climb a slow trail down his face, heating his body even more once the chill of the air ceased to hit his face once he stopped moving. He dragged one arm up to wipe at the moisture, grimaced at the filth of his body, and started to walk towards the porch. He opened the door and stepped inside, leaving the empty carcass of the forest behind him.

 

His sweat had cleared up, and the bite of the cold air started to bother him. Abraham started up a fire and put a tea kettle over the flame. He dumped tea leaves into a mug and watched the flames as he waited for the water to heat up. He would have been content to lazily stand around, but his stomach rumbled with discontent, demanding to be nourished after the long day. The basket of vegetables he had picked last week was still packed, so he grabbed a couple. He dropped them into a pot and set off to work on his dinner. He chopped and washed and peeled until he had cubes of root vegetables, filled it with water, and set the pot over the flame.

 

As he glanced idly around the room, he caught sight of Caleb’s and Ben’s jackets, the treasures of his life. His heart started beating a pace faster; a longing rose up within his throat. He scurried to his bed, pulled up a wooden box, and opened them, revealing a pile of letters. All from Caleb and Benjamin.

 

The last time Abraham had received letters from them was only months ago. Caleb told his stories on parchment that was torn at the edges and stained with what Abe could only guess was whiskey. If Abraham closed his eyes just hard enough he could smell the salt of the sea mingled with Caleb’s favorite brand of whiskey. It intoxicated Abraham, even when he couldn’t physically be there, and Abraham was sure the ocean brought Caleb to new heights as well if not leaving him at transcendance. The enticing prospect of the vast, rolling waves had lured Caleb to protect the borders of the newborn country with a newfound passion. His fiery words and tales of heroism--

 

(Picking up smugglers along the coast line or shooing away the occasional thief who lurked among shadows were the usual anecdotes, but Abraham wouldn’t dare write back and tell Caleb his tales of Odyssey were mundane matters to the average mind.

 

\--sparked a wavering flame within Abraham. He longed to join the old smuggler, moving with the waves and feeling sprays of the fresh sea hit hit his skin, settle on the carpet of shimmering blue, and watch the palette of nature paint itself over the horizon. He longed for freedom, the choice to drift along the edge of land and sea with the anchor of his love by his side.

 

Ben’s letters usually arrived later than Caleb’s did. It was to be expected when one was a member of Congress, fighting for the fair upbringing of a broken, torn yet blank country. Ben’s stories came in a pristine, white envelope flourished by a pressed wax seal. The papers themselves were covered with neat strokes, occasionally dotted with the splatter of ink because of course Ben still had to write to his loves, whether it be in the few minutes before a meeting or the midnight hours after he spent all of his fighting spirit poured into politics. 

 

Ben’s letters were filled with the ongoings of his life. The retired soldier resided in a small inn, a little shack of a room that was barely filled besides the usual bed, desk, and fireplace. He would retell the meetings that went on: Washington presiding over the room with sharp glances and a commanding presence, Hamilton and his articulate ideas which flowed like a stream for hours, and his own contributions which never managed to take on the flame that Hamilton spoke with but still contained a ripe passion.

 

No matter whose letter he was reading, whose life he got to vicariously live through mere words, he still felt an intense love. Caleb had Abe floating through his mind, conjuring up the most freeing fantasies he could ever dream of. Then he would receive a letter from Ben, whose presence felt grounding, like he could curl up into the words of the blond man and rest for eternity. 

 

And yet, he missed them so badly. Abraham held letters in his house, kept them stored in a precious, tiny box so he could revisit them when he wanted, but letters couldn’t fill the ache in his heart. He wanted to soar through the water with Caleb and drink and tell stories by the fireplace while Abraham was wrapped up in Caleb’s strong embrace. He wanted to travel to the city and visit Benjamin and watch him fervently battle old politicians to remind himself of the fiery ambition that seduced Abe so long ago. He wanted to calm him down, Abraham always had a way to wrangle his headstrong men, and stroke Ben’s hair in the soldier's room as they fell asleep to the idle sounds of city life. 

 

Abraham’s heart wanted to burst out of its physical confinement and seek out the warmth of his lovers miles away. He understood he was being selfish, daring to insert himself into the lives of Caleb and Ben and root himself there for all of eternity. He couldn’t help it. He’d spent a year bustling through life, enduring the loneliness with his precious Thomas’ presence when his son was due to visit. However, when Thomas left, Abraham would always be reminded of his lowly, mundane life. 

 

He could never match Caleb’s spark of adventure or Ben’s sturdy, ambitious attitude. Abraham was the middle, the mediator, the average. That was why he was most comfortable in his home, missing his lovers while they paraded on through life as he waited in his town like a dutiful, bored wife. He was proud of what their lives had become, they earned every right to be what they were, but he could never shake away the incessant tug of his heart to seek them out and pull them to his home. 

 

He had been lucky enough to snatch their jackets the last time they had visited him. Caleb had caught him hauling away his leather jacket and Ben’s woolen Continental Army jacket, snickered, and helped him stash it on Abe’s bed.

 

“If you miss us this much, Woody,” Caleb had pulled Abe right into his arms and pressed a soft kiss into his hair, “just give us a call.” The sincere look in Caleb’s eyes had startled Abe. Ben took his place behind Abe then, further reassuring his willingness to come to Abe’s call by murmuring sweet declarations of love into Abe’s ear. Later on when they left, Abraham dismissed Caleb’s invitation entirely; the sailor had only been polite, Abe could never take away their dreams of sailing amongst the seas or being at the side of Washington himself.

 

That was why he could usually be found curling up under either of his men’s jackets. It was truly the best of both worlds; Caleb’s scent was heady and of both the salt of the seas and the woods while Ben’s was softer, with hints of a soap Abe couldn’t quite place, yet it still surrounded Abe. When Abe was at his worst, missing both of them to the point of tears, he would wrap both jackets around himself and take in deep breaths of the soothing scents, providing him with maximum Caleb and Ben which usually served to calm him down a tad.

 

The boiling of the pot broke Abe’s thoughts, and he rushed to fan down the flame as he stirred the stew. With care, he lifted the pot off the handle and poured his dinner into bowls and set the pot down onto a counter. He made to sit down, but he paused.

 

Looking around, he grabbed Caleb’s and Ben’s jackets and sat down. He threw the clothing around his shoulders, letting the fabrics caress his body and the pheromones fill his senses. He started to eat then, a spoonful at a time accompanied by a deep, dizzying breath as his lovers’ presences overwhelmed his mind. 

 

As Abraham gazed through the window at the seemingly endless scenery of the forest, with its carpet of orange and red leaves and skeletal structures of the pines, his longing for the comfort of Caleb and Ben rolled in waves. It had been a year, and he was aching for the moment to come when he could finally hear the boisterous laugh of Caleb and the thundering steps of Ben come up his porch. Abe longed for a lot of things concerning his loves, but for now all he could do was wait and wait and wait, just for a piece of what his heart truly desired.


End file.
